Soul Fighters
by Lynalia Bourbont
Summary: An "Old Magic" fic, my very first! She fights to save him, he fights to save her, lots of romance, some sadness. Set about 20 years after Jarrod kicks Rhauk's butt. Another save the family thing, only instead of saving the family they save each other.
1. Chapter 1

Jarrod had defeated Rhauk, and the family was safe. Or so they thought. Twenty years after Thorntyne's had toasted to their security, a new trouble stirred. Among relatives in northern France this evil dwelled, quiet and unnoticed for the longest time. Yet it grew stronger each day, waiting for the moment to arrive when the trap would be sprung. The morning he arrived seemed perfect, and the cloud of Death loomed close over the manor. What no one expected was for two people to have the power to overcome it, to save the family once again, and to save each other.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1  
  
The sun glinted off of the jewels embedded in the hilt of her sword, flashing rich ruby and emerald light against the worn stone of the courtyard walls. Heaving the broadsword high over her head, she charged forward, the sharp iron of her blade slicing into the forearm of her opponent. Scarlet blood trickled onto his sleeve and she grinned over at him, proud of her newly acquired skill.   
  
"Well done Ariella. You are swift and forceful, you did not let me get my blade in at all," he praised, careful not to say too much, lest it go to her head. He motioned to his squire, handing the boy his sword and armour.  
  
"Thank you brother. You are the best dueler in the manor; it's obvious where I get my skill. Shall we go again?" She was eager today, but she was young yet and did not know the restraints of her own body.   
  
"No, if Father ever caught us sparring, it would be the end of us both. Why, he would send you-"  
  
"Right off to the capitol and court life. I know, I've heard it all before. But I was good today, admit it William. I whipped you good."  
  
"Did I not say you did well? I swear, your ego is much too large for you to be a girl. If my eyes didn't tell me otherwise, I swear I'd say you were a boy," he jested, pinching her cheek lovingly. She slapped at his hand and threw a very un-ladylike glare up at him.  
  
"If you say that ever again brother, I will tell Father where you are all of those evenings you miss supper."  
  
"You wouldn't dare."  
  
"Try me." They stood, each trying to stare the other down for many minutes before the spell was broken. He looked away first, her piercing honey colored eyes seeming to dig into his brain. There was the sound of a trumpet and the call of the gatekeeper's voice.  
  
" Who prays enter the land of the Lord Fortingard? Speak now or be spoken for by the sound of our arrows slicing through the air." His voice was so commanding for a man of his years, whomever had dared to go past the village shouted back their response without much delay.  
  
"I am Lord Dowelle. I come from the far northwest of England with urgent news for your lord. I come in peace and brotherhood with my troops for the defense of Nottinghadahm, we offer no offense to thee," the trespasser shouted. A deep male voice, full of authority, but its owner was young, for it did not resonate with the knowledge Ariella had heard in her father's voice. She grasped William's hand and pulled him along behind her towards the action. She slowed to a sedate walk as she neared the wall, glancing down at the miniature army assembled below her. At its head stood a brilliant steed, well muscled and of chestnut coloring. Atop its back sat a grandly built man with dark auburn hair and even darker looking eyes. A strange feeling passed over her at the sight of him, and for a moment she felt faint, but she shook it off, reminding herself that she showed weakness to no one. Yet as odd as his effect was, she sensed that his words were true and he posed no threat.  
  
"You may be allowed to enter with three of your men if you relieve yourselves of your weapons before presenting yourself at our dinner table," she yelled out, her voice even and sure. William grabbed her arm and spun her around roughly.  
  
"What do you think you are doing? That could be an enemy out there!"  
  
"Do you not trust my judgment brother? You yourself taught me how to discern between friend and foe, let this be my test. Please do not make a mockery of me in front of the entire manor," she hissed. His grip loosened.  
  
"Fine, but if you ruin this, I swear I shall never spar with you again."  
  
"Fine." She turned back to the men outside their gates. "Have you decided?'  
  
"You are a woman. Your place is inside spinning and weaving, what business have you here at men's work?'  
  
"You should do better in the future, m'lord, to not judge one on the basis of their outer appearance. Will you take my offer or leave it?"  
  
"We will take it," he said after a pause. She smiled, knowing that she had won this little tiff.  
  
"You may enter. Servants will meet you and take you to your rooms where you will prepare for the evening meal with my Lord." Nodding down at him, she spun on her heel and marched into the manor to make herself look presentable. There was something afoot here, and she was certain that she would have a part in it.  
  
"You did WHAT?!" bellowed Lord Fortingard at his daughter, not so little now as she had seemed only yesterday.   
  
"I invited the man in to sup with us, discuss his so-called urgent matter with you. Did I not do well as a diplomat?" She couldn't see what the problem was with her doing the job of his steward, and doing it much better, if anyone wished to know. Women were so undermined here, she waned to have authority over the manor, and if she had her way, she would once she married. The jobs men gave women were so bore some; weaving, knitting, cooking, cleaning, birthing the children but not being allowed to raise them for their own. . . The list could go on forever! Why, that old drunken steward didn't do half the job he shou-  
  
"You are a woman, no, you are a girl. Your place is in the manor, learning how to run things for when you are a wife and a lady, if that can ever be achieved. You were not born to be a diplomat or a warrior. Ladies' hands should not have calluses and blisters from wielding weapons or their voices hoarse from shouting atop the battlement walls. You are to be timid and quiet, seen and rarely heard, a pretty gem. You do not think, because women have no brain for thought. You are simply a body built for child bearing and taking care of your husbands needs. Until you are married you will not speak unless spoken to or act out of your station and character. Do you understand me?" He was certainly angry now, why his face had taken on a brilliant shade of puce!  
  
She nodded, the fire of defiance still burning openly in her eyes. Oh, how she hated this man, be he her father or not, he had no right to tell her not to think, to insult her that way. It was degrading, and she knew that was the effect he wanted. He was trying to break her spirit, make her into a silent, obedient woman like her mother. Well that would never happen, not while she still had breath inside of her. Let him think he had stopped her from being wild and free, oh, she would become an astonishing thespian just to fool his tiny brain. Heck, she'd even enjoy watching it all happen, tricking them all into thinking she was humble and meek. Now, she looked up at him, the redness of his face fading to a pale pink.  
  
"Might I take leave now to prepare for the meal, m'lord?"  
  
"Yes, go. And do try to look like a woman tonight."  
  
"Thank you m'lord." She dropped a quick curtsey and kept her back straight as she strode across the hall to the main staircase. Once out of view she ran, fleeing from the mass of pain and anger that filled the great room. She was so caught up in her own maddened thoughts that she did not hear the footsteps on the floor ahead of her or see who created them. So caught up in her own world she was that the impact between the two bodies hitting sent her flying back against the wall. Startled, she found herself looking up into amazing dark eyes, and felt a strong hand on her back, holding her up as he eased her away from the wall.  
  
"Are you alright? I was afraid for a second there that our little run-in might have knocked you unconscious. I do hope that I didn't hurt you?" His face swam before her eyes, and she feared that it did so because they had welled up with tears. Weakness. She blinked a few times, shook her head to clear it.  
  
"No, thank you, I'm quite fine. I, uh, ought to be moving along now. I need to dress for evening meal. Excuse me."  
  
"Have I seen you before?"  
  
"I doubt it, sir. Now, please, excuse me." He stepped aside with a small bow, watching her make an unsteady way down the hall to the door at the very end, which she opened and slammed shut. This was not a typical lady, no; feistiness was not something looked for in most women. But he had always loved his women with fire, kicking and screaming, fighting him. He loved a challenge, and that was one challenging woman. He smiled, his mind already made up to capture and break her, whoever she may be. This would be quite an interesting night.  
  
Ariella slammed the door, rubbing her forehead after the impact with the man in the hall. Who the hell was that? She wondered, groaning as she sank down onto her day bed. No matter, she had other pressing issues on her hands. 'Look like a woman' her father had said. Well, it wasn't too difficult, as she couldn't hide her breasts. They had been getting larger and rounder everyday for the past three years, and she was nearly certain that they had stopped growing last month, because they were almost perfectly rounded now. Not to mention that her body was so curvaceous, her hips wider than the other girls of the manor, her legs and arms still shorter even though she had grown. Mother said that she was a beautiful young woman, but Ari hated herself. She wanted to be tiny again, small enough to slip away unnoticed on the back of her mare, Sliverstreak. The only things she liked about her body were her bright topaz eyes and straight, ink black hair. They were the only things that hadn't changed since her thirteenth birthday. After that she'd been forced to stay inside with the other women, doing female things. No horses, no disappearances during the day, no tricking the steward, no war-play with William. Not that she hadn't done any of those things behind her father's back, but it would be nice not to sneak around, to be free to do what she wanted when she wanted. The free innocence of her childhood beckoned to her from those distant shores of the past, locked behind a glass door. She could see it all, but it was so far away. . . so far.  
  
She climbed down off of her feather mattress and pulled off the old dress she wore for sparring with William as she trudged over the armoire. She pulled open the doors, staring at her extensive wardrobe. Silk gowns, wool gowns, silk slippers, lace gowns, leather shoes, wool capes; she had enough clothes in there to be able to wear one outfit a day for three weeks and not wear the same thing twice. Oh, she would look like a woman tonight, but who said she would look like a beautiful woman? Reaching into the back of her closet she took out a stale dress, ragged and worn. She glanced at it, rubbing her still hurting head, and thought better of it. She would look better than beautiful, she would look wanton. Women could be wanton, and wanton women made extravagantly late entrances to meals and parties. Yes, that was what she would do. Make a mockery of me, will you Father? She thought. Well, make me look a fool and I will make you a fool as well. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2  
  
The sound of clinking goblets and laughter floated up to Ariella through the windows of the great hall. Dinner had begun a good half of an hour ago, and it was now late enough for her entrance. She paused infront of the mirror for a last minute inspection. Her gown was of a scarlett organdy, the neckline cut low enough for the tops of her breasts to peek out. The waistline fell right above her hips, its point drawing attention to her lower torso. Her hair was curled and pulled up high on her head with a handful of wisps hanging down in the back and around her face, ornamented with red poppies. A pale face to draw attention to her eyes, soft pink lips, pinched cheeks to add a flushed look. Perfect.   
  
She ascended the stairs gracefully, her head held high, the defiance written in her eyes. Pausing before the doorway, she took a deep breath and stepped foward. As she entered the hall, all conversation stopped when every pair of eyes turned and rested upon her. She looked directly at her father, pleased with his dropped jaw and horror filled expression. Now tell me that I have no brain you pig, she thought. Nodding to the people sitting on the lower diases, she picked up her skirts and climbed the steps to her seat between William and her father. Thankfully they had guests tonight, she would not have to sit directly next to Father. Her mother eyed her, showing her disapproval with raised eyebrows. Ari looked directly at her father and their guests as she sank into her high backed chair, noting a mixture of shock, fright, anger, and, on the man directly to her right, amusment. Had she seen him somewhere before? He winked at her, and she recognized him as the man from the hallway this afternoon. Her blush now was genuine. His eyes examined her, falling from her eyes, to her mouth, to her breasts, her hips. Suddenly this idea no longer appealed to her. She cleared her throat and took a sip from her goblet; real wine tonight, the guests must be important. He turned to her father and asked,  
  
"And who, might I ask, if this lovely gem?" Lord Fortingard was still coming to terms with his daughter's appearance, and now he heard his own words twisted against him, although the young man did not realize that this was what he had done.  
  
"This is my daughter, Ariella. Ariella, Lord Dowelle of Arlingtonsford." He took her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips, all the while watching her eyes, amber now with uncertainty.  
  
"A pleasure to make your aquantince."  
  
"And yours, m'lord." He let her hand linger in his, brushing his fingers against her palm, feeling the callouses there. He turned it over and examined them, the contrasting roughness and smoothness of her delicate looking hands.   
  
"Your hands, m'lady, are quite interesting. Might I inquire as to the source of these?" he said, touching a callous ever so lightly. She glanced at William, raising her eyebrows in question. He shrugged his shoulders and grinned at the attention she was recieving. If they'd been alone she would have taken a swipe at him.  
  
"They are from," she paused, lowering her voice so her father would not hear her. " They are from sword play, sir. You seem like the type of man who wouldn't mind it if his woman knew how to weild one."  
  
"Well there, my dear, you have me pegged. I feel that all women should be trained to fight, or at least to defend themselves. It would make our lives as men so much easier."  
  
"Tell that to my father," she said, laughing with him. "So, Lord Dowelle-"  
  
"Please, call me Erik." There go the formalities- right out the window!  
  
"Erik. Why have you come so far to our humble abode?"  
  
"I would hardly call this humble," he said, his eyes sweeping out over the nearly one hundred people that filled the great hall. "My hall is about half the size of this, with about a third of the people."  
  
"But you are yet a young lord."  
  
"Yes, that I am."  
  
"How young?" She was pressing on to dangerous ground, and she knew it, but there was no stopping now.  
  
"Twenty-four years this summer. Yourself?"  
  
"A mere seventeen."  
  
"You look so much older than that."  
  
"Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?" she asked, not sure whether to be taken aback by what he said, or to be pleased. His eyes teased her, twinkling when he laughed and smiled, crinkling up at the corners. She saw him watching her chest rise and fall with each breath, and she blushed again. He smiled down at her, and she remembered that even when sitting down she was shorter than most people.   
  
"A compliment. I would never dare to insult a lady. My mother taught me much better than that." His constant eyeing of her made Ari selfconscience. she reached for her goblet of wine and took a rather large sip. When she placed it down, Erik waved a servant over and had it refilled. "A lovely lady must never worry about thirst or hunger." The other servants were quickly filling the table with platters of rich, delicous smelling food. Roast boar, fresh fruits, grainy breads, sauteed lamb, fresh deer meat. There was no extent her father wouldn't go to for appearance. Erik raised his goblet and stood.  
  
"I would like to propose a toast." Everyone raised their own goblets and sat ready and listening. "To Lord Fortingard and his family, for they are far too generous. Let their household prosper for generations to come." The assembled crowd cheered and drank. "Another toast! To Lord Fortinard's beautiful daughter Ariella, that she find happiness and prosperity and love for all the days of her life." He took an extra large gulp of wine and sat down, grinning at her.  
  
"Was that necessary?" she asked, now embarassed and slightly upset.  
  
"Of course it was. A pretty lady such as yourself should be toasted to at every opportunity." She smiled, shaking her head at him.  
  
"I would toast to you but I'm afraid my father would disapprove."  
  
"You don't seem the type who cares what her father thinks," he said, glancing over his shoulder where Lord Fortingard and his three men sat in deep conversation.  
  
" I don't, you're right, but if I want to stay here until I'm married I need to pretend as though I do."  
  
"Are you betrothed to anyone?" Ah, he cuts to the chase. About time.  
  
"No, I'm not, and I like it that way. Not that any man in his right mind would want a wild woman, if you catch my meaning."  
  
"Aye, I see what you are saying, but there are plenty of men out there who don't want their wife to be quiet and to sit idly by. Myself, for instance."  
  
"Do you ride, Lord Dowelle?"  
  
"Horses? Yes, I am quite the rider, if I say so myself. You ride?"  
  
"Yes, well, I used to. My mare, Silverstreak, waits for me everyday in the stables and I cannot ride her," she said longingly, glancing at her father.  
  
"That is a shame."  
  
"Yes, it really is."   
  
They sat in silence for a while, each struggling with their thoughts of the other. Ariella picked at her food, appetite gone as she dreamed of the freedoms she had lost the day her servant had found bloodied undergarments. 'Welcome to womanhood,' the woman had said. She hated those three words more than anything else in the world. She wondered what this man wanted, sitting next to her eating his food as though he'd not eaten in months. She smiled slightly as she watched him rip at the meat with his fingers, disregarding his knife all together. Now here was a man she could get used to. She liked him already, especially the fact that he didn't regard her as property but as a human being with thoughts and wishes of her own. And he was quite handsome, with dark hair and eyes that looked as black as night. She watched his fingers shoveling food into his mouth and remembered the feeling that had rushed through her body when he had stroked her hand. It was a new feeling, and it burned low in her abdomen. She was not yet sure what it was or if she even liked it, but instinct told her that she would soon find out.  
  
Erik stole a glance over at Ariella, picking at her food with a far-off look on her face. She was hardly eating enough to keep a bird alive, and yet there she sat, stunningly beautiful. He'd never seen so radiant a creature, pale and dark at the same time. And those eyes, they mesmerized him with their forever depths. She was not a normal lady, so stuffy and quiet, speaking only of clothes or food. She understood the world he came from, the art of war and horses. Certainly he didn't expect her to entertain his fancies and show him her skills with a sword, the fact that she knew how to even lift one was feat enough for him. He wouldn't mind at all if she prefered to walk after supping, perhaps stroll down to the edge of the forest, where it was dark and no one could see them . . . No, he wouldn't mind that one bit. Yet he knew just by sitting with her this short time that she would not be seduced that easily. She would prove to be quite the challenge for him, but Erik Dowelle had never shied away from anything in his life, and he was not about to start now.  
  
The meal wound on, trecherously boring in nearly every aspect. Ariella had four more glasses of wine, each with less coaxing than the one before. By dessert she was hopelessly drunk, and it was beginning to show. Her laugh grew loud, her demeanor rough and roudy. Thankfully most of the guests had filtered out, leaving only her two brothers and Erik, who was hitting the bottom of the bottle himself. The conversation took a turn for the risque, and soon only she and Erik were left in the great hall, William and Jonathon excusing themselves, as they were 'quite drained'.   
  
"I propose," Erik said, rather loudly," that we take a stroll along the battlements in the refreshing night air."  
  
"I 'rorose we do that as we-ell," she slurred in response. He climbed out of his seat, pulling her chair out for her and sticking his elbow out for her to take. Together they made their way, quite clumsily, out towards the stairs. Ari stumbled and fell against him with a thump.  
  
"Ow. I think that hurt my ankle," she said, making no attempt to move away from him.   
  
"Do you want me to check it?" he inquired, not making an attempt to move her away.  
  
"Umm, naw. I'll just go up to bed now. I'm getting a wicked headache." She began to pull away from him, but her equilibrium was off and she tripped over the throw rug. For a drunken man he moved remarkably fast to catch her. He pulled her up by her elbows, wrapping his arm around her waist for support, but she pushed him away.  
  
"I'm fine, just a little tumble, is all," she protested, reaching for the banister and missing considerably.   
  
"Oh no, you don't," he muttered, reaching with one hand behind her back and the other against the back of her thighs and scooping her up against his chest. She squirmed against him, fighting to be put down like a child.  
  
"I can walk!" she yelled at him, pounding his shoulder with her fists. He grunted and began to climb. "Lemme go!"  
  
"No, you're drunk and you probably can't see two feet in front of your face. I'm taking you to bed, where you won't wreak havoc upon the entire household."  
  
"I wouldn't do that. Geeze, do have some faith in me."  
  
"You'd wake your father and then we'd both be in trouble." That silenced her. Erik knew already that she feared the man greatly, as much as she tried to defy him. He had to admit though, she'd succeeded tonight, he was certain, with this dress of hers. It showed more skin than was custom, and he could feel the tension in the room through out dinner. Now, she wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled against him. She was definetly drunk, because no woman did that unless she was.   
  
"Erik?"  
  
"Yes Ariella?"  
  
"You smell pretty. And you look pretty. Can you keep a secret?" He refrained from laughing by biting his lip.  
  
"Yes, Ariella, I can."  
  
"I think that I like you. You make me feel all funny inside, you know, down in my stomach and in that little spot between my legs?" He stopped dead in the hallway, his eyes wide with disbelief. Had he heard right? He made her hot? This was just what he'd been shooting for, why didn't it feel right?  
  
"I do?"  
  
"Yup. And I like it. I know that the preists and your mother tell you that it's bad, and that it's impure, but it feels good, too good for it to be bad. Right?" It was better to agree with her right now and hope that she would forget this entire conversation in the morning. He paused at the end of the hall, glancing at all three doors.  
  
"Which one it yours?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Which door is yours?" She pushed up off of his chest and looked around.  
  
"Oh. The one in the middle, with the ivy leaf on the door latch." He reached out with one hand, balancing her against his hip, and pushed it open, wincing as it creaked. He strode over to her four poster bed, pulling aside the curtains. Tenderly, he laid her down against the pillows, pulling off her slippers. She groaned and reached for his arm.  
  
"Mmm, will you take the pins out of my hair? My head hurts so bad." She just looked so vulnerable, so amazing, lying there with her guard down. This was his chance to take what he wanted; she'd never remember in the morning. But something inside told him not to, that she needed him to be a gentleman right now, to treat her with due respect. He sat down next to her, taking her head in his lap and pulling the pins, one by one, from her hair, letting its black curls cascade down his legs. He ran his fingers through the thick mass, massaging her scalp and forehead. She moaned, muttered that it felt so good, and he almost couldn't hold back. She was falling asleep with her head on his leg and he didn't bother to move her.  
  
"Erik, will you stay with me tonight?" she asked, looking up at him with almost total trust in her eyes.  
  
"Why do you want me to stay, you hardly know me at all."  
  
"I trust you. You have a good vibe to you. Plus, if one of the servants sat with me I'd get taken advantage of; he'd hurt me again." He sat stunned, his fingers stilled in their gentle movements. She'd been. . . but no, that didn't happen here in a small village. Yet she'd said it, so there was the possibility. He was suprised to find himself angry. He had no feelings for this girl, nothing more than an intense physical attraction. What was going on? Must be the wine. She groaned and sat up quickly. Hello! She spewed up what little dinner she had eaten right into his lap. He sat there for a minute, not sure how he should feel about being vomited on. She looked up at him sheepishly, a small grin on her face. Shaking his head slowly, he gave her his handkercheif to wipe her mouth, which she did ever so daintily, handing him the remants of her episode. He glanced down at his one pair of good breeches and broke into uproarious laughter, throwing his head back and being shaken by it. She looked at him inquisitivley, deciding that he was truly a crazy man. Feeling it was only proper, she slipped into the water closet and returned with towels to mop up her mess. Once he was semi cleaned, he stood to leave.  
  
"You are a different type of woman Ariella," he said, bowing shallowly. She nodded her head respectfully.  
  
"And you are a different breed of man, m'lord. Good night to you."  
  
"Aye, sleep well," he added, opening the door to leave. He looked back for a moment and their eyes met, quiet and soft and not as determined as both pairs had earlier been. He nodded sternly and backed out of the room. When the door latch clicked closed, Ari stripped from her dress and climbed into bed, sighing as her head sank into the pillows. Yes, she had been right about having a part in this, what this was, however, remained a mystery. But she had found the person that was to share the load of it all, and that was a good feeling. He was a nice man, so much better than her father would ever be. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3  
  
Ariella awoke groggy and aching, her head heavy against the pillow. Moaning, she swung her feet over the side of the bed, the cool stone of the floor soothing against her rough skin. She padded barefoot over to her wash stand, where she poured water into her ewer and splashed it on her face. She wiped at her mouth vigorously, trying to rid herself of the vomit aftertaste. It was a shame about last night, how embarrassing to have said those things, to puke in his lap! And on velvet breeches to make it worse. Oy! She reached into the clothes press and uncovered a pale green smock, simple and airy. Slipping it on and matching it with the appropriate slippers, she walked down to the great hall to break her fast.   
  
As she neared the hall there was the distinct sound of shouting. Father's voice, she could hear, and another, familiar and deep. Erik. She ran the rest of the way, then paused outside of the large doors, now securely closed against intruders. About five or so women were gathered around them, eavesdropping as they awaited the argument to end so they could breakfast. Ari noticed her mother, Jocelyn, her aunts, Ingrid and Gerda, as well as a few servants. She joined the crowd, inquiring about the cause of the altercation.   
  
"Lord Dowelle believes that there will be raiding from those regions not loyal to the new king and his decisions. Findlay, however, doesn't believe his neighboring vassals and lords would turn on lifelong alliances with him," her mother answered. She looked pale and probably hadn't gotten much sleep the night before.  
  
"Will Father declare war upon Er- Lord Dowelle?"  
  
"Most likely not, but we must be prepared for anything." Ari nodded, understanding this all too well.  
  
"Are William and Russell in there as well?" Now was Jocelyn's turn to nod, a grim smile on her face.  
  
"I just want my food. Can't they finish this elsewhere?" Ingrid asked, the larger of the two sisters.  
  
"What, you're appetite can't wait until they resolve this? Or don't you realize that this is war they're talking about?" Ariella growled at her.  
  
"War doesn't concern women, and they could just as easily yell at each other in the library or on the battlements or in the courtyard."  
  
"How can you say that war doesn't concern women? It affects us the most! We're the ones who become widows, or fatherless, brother less, son less, we're the ones who are taken for prizes, raped and enslaved. This makes or breaks our lives!" Ari was nearly screaming now, but she didn't care. Jocelyn put her hand on Ari's arm, trying her best to soothe the girl. The yelling from the hall suddenly grew louder, and there was a crash, possibly a chair being thrown. All of the women quieted, no longer needing to strain to hear what was being said.  
  
"I give you my hospitality and this is what I get in return? Lies about my closest friends and allies? I will not hear this, Lord Dowelle. You may be a lord, but you have no tact whatsoever, nor do you have war skills or the army to back you. You are nothing and should be ashamed of yourself."  
  
"Believe what you will, but it will not be my fault when you lose your manor and your keep to foes you once thought friends." It grew eerily silent in the hall. The doors flew open, startling the women gathered behind them. Erik looked up, muttered a humble apology. His eyes lit up when he saw Ari among them, yet he still wore a long face.   
  
"Has Father sent you away then?" she asked, not bothering to hide her disappointment.  
  
"No, but he will, if I speak too much of matters he does not like, or wish to acknowledge." He smiled sadly, adding, " I just hope that if, no, when, when he does know that what I speak is truth that it is not too late for Nottinghadahm." He bowed slightly and disappeared out the side door. Ingrid waited hardly a minute before she and Gerda rushed into the hall. Jocelyn and Ariella had a bit more decency. They knew their place in the house, as much as they may dislike it. The two stood quietly at the foot of the dais until Lord Fortingard noticed them, motioning for them to sit and eat with a simple flick of his wrist. When Ariella sat, trying to call as little attention to herself as possible, her father singled her out with a glare of ice. Pointing a grease covered finger her way, he said,   
  
"You, daughter, are a disobedient and ungrateful girl. You show no respect for your father and disregard common courtesy and manners. If you ever, Ever, do that again in my house, you will be sent to the capitol to live with your uncle, who will see that you are taught the proper way a young lady must behave. And, for what you did to me in front of all of my people, you will receive a severe whipping. Is all I have said clear to you?"  
  
"Crystalline, Father," she said, her head bowed so she would not seem defiant.  
  
"Good. Report to Christopher for your punishment after you eat," he commanded, returning his attention to his food. She ate an apple, a piece of coarse bread, and a mug of water, then asked to be excused. Lord Fortingard shooed her away using the same gesture he had ushered her in with. Cursing the man in her head, Ariella slowly made her way to the armoury, where the damnable steward certainly awaited her. Aye, there he was, whip in hand and a wicked grin on his face. Oh, how she hated him, the evil little man.  
  
"Well, my dear, come to visit me so soon?" he taunted.  
  
"Oh, just shut up and get it over with. I have business to attend to," she snapped back, not in the mood for his snide remarks. She knew that if he had his way that she would be married to him and bearing his brats. She offered up a prayer that such a fate would never befall her, or any woman for that matter.  
  
"Very well then, follow me." He started down the steps to the courtyard, and she went along behind him, her eyes throwing daggers at his back. Then the realization hit her; her father meant to make this beating public! Damn him for making her pay for his lost dignity with hers. Damn him! She should fight them, tooth and nail, but she still wished to stay here. As much as she hated the people, this was her home, and she didn't want to be forced out of it to a foreign place with no one she loved or trusted. So she fought the natural urge to fight against punishment and confinement and did what she'd done so many times before, gritted her teeth and bore it. Christopher motioned to the pole by the well and produced a coil of rope. She walked over and pulled her arms out of the sleeves of her dress, pulling the soft cotton open at the back so it would not be torn with the whip. She put her arms up around the pole, letting Christopher secure them there with the rope and a solid knot. He grabbed her gown and nearly ripped it opening it wider until she was showing more skin than she should. She bellowed at him, kicking out at his shin. He snickered and ran his fingers along the scars that littered her back from beatings before.   
  
"Such soft skin, so pale and delicate," he whispered, tracing a particularly nasty one that went to the small of her back. Then, without even so much as a warning, he swung the whip and let it lash out against her back hard. She buckled and screamed at him. Yet the whip fell again, and again, and again. Ariella winced, feeling an old scar rip open with the force of the blows he delivered. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from thinking of the blood trickling down her thighs and stomach. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. . . The pain was intense, her strength dwindling as Christopher reached and exceeded the limits her father had set. He was on twenty one when someone forced him to stop. Ari was on her knees, her head dipped against her chest in defeat. She was being untied, now someone was lifting her. Opening her eyes, she found herself cradled in Erik's arms, pulled in against his chest. His tunic was already soaked with her blood but he didn't seem to notice. The worry was eminent in his gaze.  
  
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice quivering.  
  
"I am now. Thank you Erik," she said, sliding her arms around his neck in an effort to hold on as he began to walk towards the door leading inside. "Oh, no, please. Can you carry me to the stables?"  
  
"Yes, but I don't think now is the time for a ride." He turned around and carefully shifted her weight against him, trying not to touch the open gashes in her skin.   
  
"Last stall on the right please. Put me down in the straw and saddle her up for me, if you don't mind."  
  
He kicked open the door softly and entered the stall. The white mare in the corner looked up from her feedbox for just a moment, seeing her mistress and judging this male intrusion alright. Erik placed Ari down on the pile of fresh straw and reached for the saddle and bridle. They were of well-oiled leather, the bit of solid silver. Wonder how much this set the lord back, he thought. He took but a few minutes saddling the horse, then turned to find Ariella staring at him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"My uncle gave me the bridle and bit, straight from the capitol." How had she known? "I saw you eyeing them, and I know how cheap our manor looks. Father would never spend money on my horse, or my sword, just the whip he has Christopher use." The anger was back in her eyes.  
  
"What did you do to deserve that? It's evil to whip a horse, let alone a woman. That is just inhumane."  
  
"Get me up on Silverstreak and I'll tell you about it."  
  
"You seriously don't intend to ride in this condition."  
  
"Why do you think I had you saddle her? Do you think she likes having that thing on? I'd prefer to ride bareback, but I wasn't sure if you needed a saddle or not. Now cup a hold and help me up!" He gave her his hand and pulled her upright, then picked her up and sat her side-saddle on the mare's back. She swung her leg over to the other side and let him climb up in front of her. He took the reins in his hands and said,   
  
"Where to, my lady blue?"  
  
"Go out this door here and ride straight until I tell you to stop." He kicked Silverstreak into a walk, then a canter, and finally a gallop as they left the confinement of the walls. Ari leaned back, letting the wind blow her hair out behind her. They were flying across the plains, and she could hear the shouts of the soldiers atop the battlements. She grinned and waved to them, their whistles and cat-calls nothing new to her. Smile still on her face, she leaned into Erik, wrapping her arms around him. He stiffened slightly at her touch, but relaxed as she rested her head against his shoulder. She was just so soft and delicate looking, fire and ice inside, with a beauty surpassed by no other. It hurt him so much that Lord Fortingard would have her whipped, and to the point where it left scars! Ariella reached over and pulled on the reins, ever so slightly, and Silverstreak slowed her gallop to an easy trot, both of which jerked Erik out of his thoughts.  
  
"Here?" he asked, looking at the forest that loomed ahead of them.  
  
"No, there's a clearing about a mile in," she said, clucking to the mare, who trotted into the trees as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do.  
  
"There could be enemies hiding in here. Aren't you afraid of that?"  
  
"No one would dare to enter these woods unaided. I am one of the few who know every path and hiding place, every den of every bear, the holes of all the creatures that dwell here. They are my only friends in all of this place. And I fear nothing, Lord Dowelle, except for my father."  
  
"Why do you fear him? I mean, other than his ignorance and masculinity-"  
  
"You have seen my back. What man beats his own daughter with a whip purely because she is strong-willed and stubborn?" she asked. "He didn't want me, he had his son already, a daughter was of little asset to him in these parts. Just another mouth to feed, another excuse for his wife to not share his bed. He has hated me from the day I was born, and I feel his wrath on a regular basis."  
  
"That is so horribly evil, to not love your own flesh and blood simply because they are not what you wish them to be."  
  
"Yet it happens, m'lord, and there is nothing any of us can do about it." By now they were deep into the woods and Erik saw no signs of a clearing. The trees were so thick here that no sunlight filtered through their heavy branches. But beyond all reason, Silverstreak walked sedately through the limbs and into an open, bright clearing, with high wheat colored grass and wildflowers. In the very center there ran a bubbling brook which pooled into a small pond. It was splashed with color; reds and greens, purples and blues, yellows and whites. He paused in his dismount, shocked by the simplistic beauty of it all, his breath stilled in his chest.   
  
"I-, it's, it's- when did you find this? I, it's magnificent," he stuttered, still lost in awe.  
  
"I was six of seven when I first rode Silverstreak. She was wild and unbroken, just as free a spirit as me. I lost control of her, and she took me here. It's our secret hideaway, whenever something bad happens, I take her from the stables and we ride, free and unchallenged. This is my real home." He watched the emotions struggling just under her surface, watched her fight to keep them under control. He slid to the ground, reaching up to lift her off the horse. She cried out when he accidentally touched one of the open wounds. He mumbled his apologies and held her against him carefully. She let him carry her over to the pond and set her down in the deep grass. He sat beside her and reached out to her.  
  
"Come, let me see them." She looked up at him, wondering how he could be so kind to her. She scooted across the foot of grass that separated them and sat directly in front of him. He gathered her hair in his hands, letting it fall over her shoulder. Trying to keep his anger in check, he examined the bloody mess that was her back. The skin was torn and ragged, but the blood flow seemed to have stopped, courtesy of his once white shirt. Scars covered her back, in such odd shapes and lengths and sizes that he wondered just how badly she was treated. He ripped a clean piece of his shirt off and dipped it in the water. He brought it over to her back and pressed it to the worst of the gashes. He felt her tense and heard the gasp that escaped her lips as the cold water seeped into the wound. Carefully, with strong and learn-ed motions, he placed a clean, damp piece of his tunic onto her bloodied back until he had no shirt left.She sat there, enclosed in his arms, for a few moments more, savoring the feeling inside of her that his touch evoked. His skin was so warm, his muscles hard beneath the softness of his epidermis. Yet the moment had to end, this she knew from past experiences.   
  
Groaning softly, she pulled herself up and away from him. She refused to look up at him, focusing her eyes on her hands, or the hem of her gown. The silence between them was awkward and oh so loud to her ears, echoing in her skull. She cleared her throat.  
  
"Thank you m'lord. I regret to say, sir, that now you have no shirt to wear," she said, nodding her head towards his bare chest. He grinned, stretching his arms over his head and lying back in the grass.   
  
"Oh, I've others. It's a warm day anyhow, I can go without." He grinned at her, all teeth. My, how white they were.  
  
"Yes, but things will be assumed when we ride back and you are seen half-naked. I would prefer if that did not happen." That was all she needed, the soldiers would be breaking down her bedroom door tonight, trying to add another notch to their bedposts. She shuddered at the thought; there was more than enough trouble with Christopher and him, no more was needed.  
  
"Well then, what shall we do, my dear lady?" he said in jest.  
  
"Drown you in this pool? Or perhaps. . . no, it would never work." He sat up slightly, his interest sparked.  
  
"What? Tell me."  
  
"I, well, you could wear the bloodied part, and we could say the rest was torn off when you fell from the horse."  
  
"No! My men would know better- I sit a horse better than any of them can ever dream to."  
  
"Have you any other suggestions?"she inquired, raising her eyebrows at him.  
  
"Well, no, but still."  
  
"Put it on and then help me with my gown please." Muttering under his breath the entire time, he obliged her, slipping on the ruined garment. His fingers brushed the back of her neck as he buttoned her gown up for modesty's sake. Then he climbed back into the saddle, reaching down with one hand to pull her behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist tightly, feeling heat rush through her when she touched the hardness of his body. He sucked his teeth and kicked the mare into a gallop. He hoped to make it out of the forest before dusk fell; it had been almost noon when they'd set out, and he'd not eaten much this morning. But Silverstreak ran hard and made the ride in half the time it had taken earlier They were through the stables and heading towards the stairs before they were noticed. Ingrid, Ariella thought, her anger steaming once more. That one would tell the entire manor before they even made it to the safety of their own rooms. She couldn't let Erik be embarrassed again.  
  
"Lord Dowelle, really, you must not ride so hard through the forests here. The tree limbs are hungry for an over-zealous rider, and already you have fallen victim to their clawing branches! I do say, sir, nearly the whole back of your shirt has been torn off!" He almost turned to look at her, the question written all over his face. She rushed to his side and guided him up the steps, making certain that his back was always towards that magpie of a woman.  
  
"You just come along to your chamber and I'll call the servants in to take care of you. Tsk, tsk, tsk." By that time they were in the hallway and out of Ingrid's sight and hearing.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"My cousin. She's got a mouth on her, and if she had any clue what happened this afternoon, or was left to create her own lie, it would be the death of us both." He opened the door to his room, letting her close and lock it as he sank down into the bed.   
  
"And what happened this afternoon, pretty lady?"  
  
"You know very well. We rode out to my clearing, you treated my wounds, we rode back. No more, no less."  
  
"I thought there was a little more than that, but I was raised better than to argue with a lady."  
  
"I am no lady. All you need to do is listen to the guards' gossip to learn that. I am the maiden in all of their dreams, wet and dry. You've seen the way they look at me. It's a wonder I still am a maiden, what living in this place." She looked him dead in the eye as she said that, watching his expression.  
  
"Perhaps I can change that," he said softly.  
  
"Nay, I don't think you can change any of it Erik. It's already been done."   
  
She turned to undo the latch and go, but in two strides he was at her side, his hand on her arm. She looked up at his face, afraid at the hardness she found there. He cupped her chin in his hand, his thumb stroking the line of her jaw. The coldness in his black eyes frightened her, and she struggled to get away. But he pulled her close, ever conscious of her lashings, and pinned her body against the door with his. Just as she began to squirm he brought his face close in to hers, letting his lips touch hers softly. He felt her begin to melt and caught her behind the knees, dumping her on the bed. They met each other for the kiss this time, his lips demanding and rough. His tongue forced her lips open for him, and he let her fall back against the pillows as he ravished her mouth. The kiss was hot and ragged, her tongue timidly meeting his, the two of them tasting each other. His hand moved from her hip to her thigh, and she slid away from him.  
  
"No. Erik, please. Not now, not, no." Her breath was coming in short gasps, her heart beating too quickly in her chest. He sat back on his haunches, licking his lips and watching her.  
  
"You don't kiss like a maiden, but you shy away like one. It doesn't make sense."  
  
"Nothing ever does when it comes to me, or have you noticed that already?"  
  
"Who was it? Who took you?"  
  
"It wasn't my choice, I didn't want it any more than I want that damn whip. But it doesn't matter what I want, I'm a woman."  
  
"Who?" His tone was harsh, although he didn't mean it to be.  
  
"Take your pick; one of the guards, a servant, Christopher, a guest at the manor, a villager. They all have the same look in their eye when I pass them in the hall or the streets. I don't even look at their faces anymore; they're all the same." Her defiance was fading, the tears welling up in her eyes. He opened his arms to her, and she sank into his open embrace. Her beauty was her downfall, was used against her to the worst extent. Rocking her body back and forth, he held her while she cried, the anger festering up inside of him like the puss in an infected wound. A bell sounded from far off and she pulled herself back to the present.  
  
"I have to go get ready for dinner. We don't want any repeat performances, eh?"  
  
"No, we don't. Will you be alright?" he asked, the worry eminent in his gaze.  
  
"Yes, I'll be fine, really. Thank you." She smoothed her skirt, then leaned towards him for a moment. Her lips brushed against his cheek as she whispered in his ear,  
  
"You don't kiss like a maiden either." 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
Erik sat there, dumbstruck, after she left. I should hope I don't kiss like a maiden! He thought. Oh, but she was amazing. Fire and ice, she was. Ariella. Yet, for all of her beauty and passion and innocence, her spirit was not whole. Whoever had hurt her would pay, and pay dearly. He shook his head and stood up. Now was not the time to be thinking about revenge. What he needed to do was redeem himself in Lord Fortingard's eyes. How that was to be done remained a great mystery, and as supper came ever closer he knew that he should have a plan. It was dangerous to go into battle without a strategy, and when rhetoric was involved his approach must be as foolproof as possible. With a well-seasoned man like the one who waited downstairs against him, Erik knew the battle would be fierce.  
  
Appearance was everything, or so his father had taught him. When you want to make an impact, son, he had said, dress to impress. Seeing how his best breeches were slightly ruined, courtesy of a very pretty lady and her upchuck reflexes, the nicest woolen ones would have to do. Those and a soft blue tunic; that would look quite stunning. He quickly bathed with the cool water in the basin, donned his outfit and left to escort Ari to dinner.  
  
Ariella stood in front of the wardrobe again, contemplating her look for tonight. In her current state a tight-laced dress was simply out of the question. She glanced into the back of the wooden piece for a moment, shoving the clothes aside in an attempt to find something. A dark blue gown caught her eye. It was very simple, modestly cut; yet the slits in the arms and skirt drew just the right amount of attention. She dressed herself modestly, wearing a simple ribbon about her neck and letting her curls fall down her back. She was just slipping into her shoes when there was a knock at the door. This was a surprise, as she was not expecting anyone, not that she ever did.  
  
"Come in," she called, turning just in time to see William close the door behind him. "William. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with Father?"  
  
"Yes, but I need to talk to you," he said, walking over to stand behind her in front of the mirror.   
  
"About?"  
  
"That man, Lord Dowelle. You ought to be careful around him. That man is dangerous Ari, and I don't want to see you hurt or missing. Just don't get involved with him, all right? I don't trust him." She tensed underneath his hand on her shoulder. Too late, brother, she thought.  
  
"I'm not involved in anything. All I've done is talk innocently with the man. What could be wrong with that?"  
  
"Nothing, but don't let it go any further." He nodded to her; his eyes falling over her appearance. "I'll see you at dinner." With a quick glance at the bed, he left, only just missing Erik in the hall. A final look in the mirror, and she too, got up to leave. Opening the door, she found herself face   
  
to face with a fist.  
  
"What the-"  
  
"I was just about to knock and escort you down stairs," Erik said, that wicked grin on his face.  
  
"Oh. Well then, by all means, escort me, good sir." She smiled back, his high spirits infectious to the bone. He stuck out his elbow and she took it with all the grace and mannerisms of a well-bred lady. The two of them walked, arm in arm, to the great hall for yet another dinner at the manor. He paused at the door, bending to whisper in her ear.  
  
"Are you ready to face the vultures?"  
  
"As long as you're right there with me the whole time, I can manage tonight."   
  
"I won't leave your side", he said, his lips grazing her ear ever so softly. Squeezing her arm, he led her towards dinner.  
  
Thankfully they weren't late, but they received more notice than they needed by those already gathered. William gave her a cold glare as Erik pulled out her chair. From the tense atmosphere in the room, Ari knew that monopolizing the conversation would not be a wise idea for any but her father. Smiling briefly at him and keeping her eyes downcast, she turned to her food, mutton. Erik reached over beneath the table and squeezed her thigh. She fought to keep her reaction in. They weren't seated five minutes before the men started their war talk. Lord Fortingard turned to Erik.  
  
"And what are your thoughts on the matter of feudal warring?"  
  
So it begins, they thought. So it begins. 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
  
Erik sat there for a moment, contemplating the question he'd just been asked. His whole reason for being here relied on the answer he gave.   
  
"I feel, Lord Fortingard, that feudal warfare should be applied only when necessary."  
  
"And what, young lord, do you deem 'necessary'?"  
  
"Well, say there are two farmers, both of whom live on the edge of their lord's property. One farmer lives under your rule, and the other under your neighbor's. These two men lived in peace together for twenty long years. Then, one day, the farmer who lives on your neighbor's land decides to expand the field he uses to plant his crops, therefore giving him a greater yield. Your farmer also wants to bring in more grain. The two expand their fields to the edges of your properties. The two meet as they are enlarging their fields and begin to argue about who has the more land. They each say that the other is on their lord's side of the boundary, and is therefore trespassing. They argue to the point of violence, and soon the one murders the other over a border dispute. Would you therefore go to war with your neighboring vassal because your borders were not properly defined and two farmers got into a fight?" Erik felt all the eyes in the room on him, but he kept his cool and inhaled.  
  
"Of course I wouldn't clash with another lord over a stupid peasants' squabble," Findlay said arrogantly.  
  
"Yet that is one of the main causes of feudal warfare. It seems to me that many lords are bloodthirsty and go looking for a fight, sometimes even picking them. Why must we ask for bloodshed and war when it can so easily arrive on our doorstep? If you men only knew what damage this has done in England, I am certain you would not embrace it so eagerly."  
  
"What do we care of England? They don't come to our aide when we call for it, nor do we go to theirs. What does it matter to us if England rips herself apart? More land for us Normans, I say!" he raised his goblet to that, inciting a hearty "Here here!" from the diners.   
  
"You are from England sir. Kicked out years ago, but Britons at heart. Your former countrymen are split into miniature kingdoms and fight each other at their borders, slaughtering their brothers and nephews and even their own sons. They are not content with their own borders and will spill over into Normandy without more than a thought at the riches and women they would claim as their prizes. Do you not see that this affects you all? You may have had an alliance with these men, or with their former king, but they respect nothing of the past. I say to you, take up your arms and prepare for the fight that will soon be on your doorstep!" Erik stared into Lord Fortingard's eyes, his own black ones hard and steady.   
  
"How would you know these things?" he asked.  
  
"You say I am a young lord. The neighbors we thought to be our closest allies turned on us in our most dire hour of need, killing my father and brothers, keeping my mother and sisters for their own. Our soldiers fought them fiercely, forcing them back to their keep. I was spared because I was out hunting with my men. I went to the king and begged for his help, but he just turned me out as if I was a pebble in his shoe. He refused to acknowledge the fighting, the murder, the looting and raiding. On my way back to my own manor, I stayed at an inn where I overheard plans to 'finish off the English and head south to pay a little visit to the Normans'. This is why I come to warn you, so that you might not face what I have, and suffer the same fate."  
  
The entire hall was silent; every pair of eyes was on this young man who had lost it all, yet still survived. Ariella placed a hand on his forearm.  
  
"Erik," she whispered. "Are you alright?" He nodded, smiling at her as though he'd not just told everyone his heart-wrenching story.  
  
"I apologize, Lord Dowelle, for my rudeness. I did not know the full extent of your words," Findlay said, his head bent in shame.   
  
"It isn't by any fault of yours, m'lord. I only hope that there is still enough time for the makings of a defense."  
  
"That will be seen to immediately. Come sir, and eat your meal in peace and with good fellows." Fortingard clapped him on the back and took a swig from his goblet. A servant quickly refilled the cup.  
  
Dinner went by smoothly, Ari keeping herself out of conversation and away from her father's wrath. The soldiers drank too much, and became rowdy before the final course was served. Even William was drunk; the only sober people the women, children, Erik and her. She grabbed Erik and made an exit with the other women, hiding their clasped hands in her skirts. They made a getaway to the door of her chamber. He cupped her face in his hands and looked down at the delicate features displayed there.  
  
"I am sorry for your family. But I am not sorry that you are here."  
  
"Nor am I," he responded. "Now be quiet so I can kiss you." His head bent and their lips met. It was a soft kiss, tender in every respect. He pulled away from her after a few moments. "I'm going to bed now, before I lose my decency."  
  
She nodded, licking her lips to savor his taste.  
  
"Good night Erik. Sweet dreams, m'lord." His fingers stroked her jaw before he turned briskly and strode down the hall, hands clenched at his sides. Smiling slightly, she turned and entered her room. Leaving her gown draped over the back of her dressing screen, she crawled into bed wearing just a chemise. She curled against the many pillows and drifted off to sleep in only a few moments, exhausted from her long day. Thoughts of Erik became marvelous dreams, pleasure to her mind and heart.  
  
Hours later she heard the door being eased shut, felt the bed sink with the weight of another person. Groggy and annoyed to be disturbed from her fantasies, she opened her eyes just a bit.  
  
"Erik?" she wondered aloud. In an instant she knew that it wasn't him. She cried out as the large form pushed her down into the feather mattress. Rough hands stripped her of her chemise, forced her thighs open. She scrambled away, opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth. Tears filled her eyes as she fought against this intruder; she hadn't been expecting this tonight, didn't want it to happen again.   
  
"No, please... stop..." she begged, her breath coming in gasps. The intruder paid her no heed, and forced himself upon her. The tears spilt over, pouring out of her eyes. When he was finished, he grabbed her by the throat and slapped her.  
  
"That will teach you to disobey me. Don't go near him again." His voice was gruff, and his breath heavy with the scent of wine. With one last touch her left her, crying and violated and desperately alone.  
  
"Erik..." she whispered. "Save me... Erik..." 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7  
  
The morning dawned bright and clear, but it was not so in Ari's room. She kept the curtains drawn on the windows and her bed. Breakfast came and went, and she stayed locked in her chamber, accepting no visitors. Her whole body was sore, and one of the gashes on her back had reopened in the night. Wrapped in her dressing gown, Ari paced the small area in front of her door, contemplating everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. It was too much, it all hit her at once, and she fell onto the bed, burying her head in the pillows. There was no use in crying again, that only made her eyes puffy and did not help the thought process. At a loss for words or ideas, she dozed.  
  
Around mid-day her door opened and shut. Without looking to see who it was she called,  
  
"Get out, I told you that I don't want to see anyone today!"   
  
"Not even me?" Turning, she saw Erik standing there.  
  
"No, least of all you."  
  
"What did I do to have you angry with me? The kiss? If you didn't like it, I won't kiss you again. I just thought that we had chemistry, and you seemed to want me to kiss you again, so I did. But I never suspec-"  
  
"Just stop talking. It's not you, trust me, it'd be a lot simpler if it was. Please, leave me alone. I don't want anyone near me." He looked at her, slumped over in her chair by the window.  
  
"What's wrong? Something happened after I left last night. What? Talk to me Ariella."  
  
"No! It's none of your business. Go talk war with my father, or spar with my brothers. Leave me alone!"  
  
"I can't," he muttered. He could sense that something was going on. He glanced at the bed, saw the sheets were rumpled, the blood from her wounds, and anger welled up inside of him. "Who?"  
  
"Who what? What are you talking about?" she snapped, turning to look at him. He was still regarding the bed and didn't see the fear that had entered her eyes.  
  
"You know very well what I'm talking about. Who took you last night?" Now he saw her and she blanched. "Ari tell me. Who did it?"  
  
"I, I don't know," she lied.  
  
"Yes you do, I can see it on your face. Tell me."  
  
"I can't. No Erik, you don't understand. If I told you, if I say anything at all, there's no telling what he might do. It's not that I don't want you to know, but you could get killed, and that I truly do not want. I have lived with it alone for long enough, I can live with it for as long as I need to."  
  
"Christopher? The stable master? The steward? Who Ari? Please, I need to know. It hurts me to see you like this. Let me help."  
  
"I want to tell you, and I do. But it isn't possible, for your sake and my own. If I just pretend like it doesn't happen, then it won't happen for a long time. It was just your coming and my being so drawn to you that triggered it. Really, I'm fine, just sore and tired. Please, I don't want to talk about this." She begged him with her eyes, and he sighed.  
  
"Alright, but I will find out Ariella. And I swear to you that I will make him pay for what he has done to you." He reached out to stroke her cheek, and saw the pale bruise that marred the perfect surface. The anger was in his eyes now and she put her fingers over his.  
  
"Don't. Just let it go. For me."  
  
He groaned and pulled her close, letting her head rest against his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair, so thick and curly. She put her arms around his waist and breathed in his scent. They stayed like that for a while, neither one moving. When the bell rang for lunch they pulled apart.  
  
"Are you coming?" he asked. She shook her head.  
  
"No, I'm keeping up appearances. I've already yelled at four servants that I wasn't coming out of my room and to leave me alone. Can't back down now, they won't respect me if I did." He smiled at her, then kissed the top of her head.   
  
"I'll save you an apple."  
  
"How big of you. Thanks Erik, really. You don't know how much it means to me that you care."   
  
"Oh, I think I do Ari. I think I do." With that, he ruffled her hair and left, whistling as he walked down the corridor.  
  
She spent the remainder of the day watching the birds twitter and soar above the clouds and through the trees. She thought about what she was going to do. He'd hurt her, yes, but she knew if she let that rule her body and soul that she would not be able to grow. And she liked Erik. He made her laugh, feel herself inside, set her free. With him came feelings and sensations she'd never known, and she didn't want to lose those. Why should she sacrifice her own happiness for a man who treated her like chattel and who raped her whenever the mood struck him? No, she wasn't going to let him tell her how to live her life or let him restrict her to what he wanted. He wasn't her father, nor was he her keeper.   
  
The wardrobe in the corner of her room held many gowns and outfits, and none fit defiance and freedom of choice better than the yellow taffeta. It brought attention to her eyes and fit her body snugly. With a black ribbon about her neck and the same color shoes, she looked like a gypsy from the east. She added bangles to her wrists, then thought better of it at the amount of noise they made. As quietly as a mouse, she left her chamber and moved slowly down to the antechamber. Few people were there, although servants bustled around like worker bees. William sat on the edge of the dais, picking at his nails with his knife. When she entered, he looked up at her, the shock written all over his face. He recovered swiftly, smiling at her with a mischievous glint in his eye.  
  
"Ariella," he said, putting his knife away and reaching out his hand to her. "Good to see you up and about dear."  
  
"Well, my evening was simply full of surprises and I needed to recover from the alarm it caused." He kept smiling up at her, and patted the spot next to him. She shook her head with a grim smile.  
  
"What sort of surprises? Nothing too scarring I hope."  
  
"Oh, male surprises. Very unexpected. I only hope that they won't happen again."  
  
"Don't count on it. You were very uptight last night, but I only hope you enjoyed it as much as I did."  
  
"Of course. I especially liked the part where you hit me. Left a little mark for me to remember you by."  
  
"You just take heed of what I said. You'll pay for it with more than just your sleep if you don't."  
  
"What? Afraid that he might take me away and you can't have your nightly excursions with your sister? There are more than enough women who would willingly share your bed. Why me?"  
  
"You fight back. And you're too beautiful to be touched by another man, one who doesn't appreciate you. When Father dies you'll be mine, and it won't matter a whit what you want or not. You already belong to me and you always will." He stood up and moved closer to her, squeezing her bottom. "Don't you forget that Ari. You're mine."  
  
He left her standing there, anger welling up inside. Moments later Erik walked in and came to her side.   
  
"What was that about?"  
  
"What was what about?"  
  
"You and William. Did he hurt you?"  
  
"No, Erik. You can't hurt your property," she said, looking into his eyes.  
  
"Him?" he asked. He looked towards the door he'd left by.   
  
"Who else? None other would dare to touch the Lord's daughter, no one other than his very son."  
  
"But, but that's incest! You could become pregnant with his child Ari, your son and nephew both!"  
  
"Shh, keep your voice down! I don't need the entire manor to know my shame. It's not out of choice but force. I can only hope that Father will not die any time soon. Because once he goes, Mother will not last much longer. And then my fate will be sealed. But let's not talk of this. I want to have my fun while I still can." She slid her arm around his waist and hugged him. He gave her a squeeze back. People began to file in for the meal and he began to separate them, but she hung on.  
  
"Let me have my fun while I can. Who cares what they think?" she whispered. He grinned at her.  
  
"Alright then, you have your fun, little gypsy. Have your fun." 


End file.
